Because I'm A Super Hero
by igirisexual
Summary: Alfred had always had a twisted sense of justice. Arthur always thought he'd grow out of it. Things get out of hand, and Alfred thinks he's saving the world. The best way for him to save the world? To get out of it and stop trying to 'change things for the better'. USUK, Human AU.


**ok ok just before i start this; lines indicate timeskips of varying lengths and its up to u to put together how long its been and guessing is open wahey**

**this fic contains violence, twisted views, and a little terrorism, so if they're triggers, i ask you read with caution.**

* * *

"Hurry up, Arthur!" Alfred giggled as he ran around the house, a small towel held to his shoulders and flitting about his back. "C'mon, c'mon!"

"Alfred, slow down!" called the elder boy, who was trying his very best to keep up with the enthusiastic six year-old. It was hard, though, because Alfred insisted on darting about and not giving Arthur, nine years of age, a chance to catch up.

"Big baddie's gonna get me!" Alfred chirped, the towel cape starting to slip from his hands. "He ain't gonna catch me!" He giggled uncontrollably, letting out a weak cry as his cape left him, and he no longer felt like a super hero. Arthur only saw it out of the corner of his eye, but Alfred childishly went to follow the cape as it glided down the stairwell.

"Alfred!" Arthur cried, reaching out to try and grab Alfred as the younger child lost his footing. As Alfred tumbled from stair to stair, all Arthur could do was watch with a stopped heart. When Alfred finally hit the floor, Arthur tried to breathe. In a second, he was down the stairs too, diving on his knees in front of the boy. Terrified and unsure what to do, he wailed for Alfred's mother to come and rescue her little hero.

* * *

Arthur awoke with a cold sweat, panting softly and sitting up in his bed. He was called back to reality as Alfred stirred beside him, arms quickly lacing around Arthur's waist.

"Everything okay?" Alfred asked, voice husky from sleep.

"Bad dream," Arthur wheezed, gently laying back turn and rolling onto his side to face Alfred. "I'm still a little shaken."

"Hey, now," Alfred said quietly, shuffling in a little closer and tightening the embrace. "I gotcha."

The two boyfriends were soon back asleep in one another's arms, curling closely together. When morning came, it was Alfred who jumped up first. "Ah, morning duty!" he said rather shrill-ly, scrambling out of bed and slapping his alarm quiet. He then began to sing the American national anthem, all while changing into his uniform.

"Oh, shut up," grunted Arthur, crawling out from under the blankets only to throw the nearest object (Alfred's watch) at the singing boy. "And don't put that on, Alfred, you shouldn't be doing this."

"Dude, it's totally my duty to look after this city," Alfred said, rolling his eyes and turning up his coat collar. "I can't desert my duty."

"Yes, you can, because it isn't your _duty_ or anything," snapped Arthur, grudgingly hauling himself out of Alfred's bed and stumbling over. "You're going to get hurt."

"I'm just beating up pickpockets and shit," Alfred rolled his eyes again. Arthur was always so worried. "I'm saving the world from evil, dude." He smirked and looked around for things in his desk.

"You're delusional," Arthur muttered, although he snaked his arms around Alfred from behind, leaving his hands to rest on Alfred's soft stomach. "You can't just stay with me today?" He could always try that guilt trip to stop Alfred from going and hurting himself. "You never have time for me."

"You say that, but we hang out all the frickin' time," he laughed, resting his hands on Arthur's a moment before puffing and finishing getting dressed. "I'll be back later, 'kay? You should probs' get ready for work." Arthur groaned and let go, watching Alfred with a cautious eye as he shuffled away. "I gotta go."

"Stay safe, Alfred," Arthur murmured.

Alfred, nowadays, was quite an activist. Always doing his best to help out the city, that one. He would stoop as low as cleaning up litter, and climb as high as beating up thieves and dirty robbers. He was purifying the city, he said. He pretended that his outfit, this long and flowing coat topping dark and baggy underclothes, was his hero's uniform, his disguise. He was yet to come up with a good handle to be known under. Today, he had scaled a small building, and from there, was able to keep climbing up and up the city until he had found himself a good place for a parkour run. It was the best way to keep fit.

As he ran from rooftop to rooftop, dived over alleys and parked cars, Alfred always kept an eye out for anything suspicious. Crimes, he would eradicate, criminals, he would punish. Over one particular alley, he caught sight of something he shouldn't have. Slowly, stealthily, he climbed down the side of the building he had scaled, and peeked into the alley with the suspicious figures. As he saw, a young woman was being held up against a wall, struggling as an ugly and bulky man tried to remove her clothes. Not to mention that the woman was crying. Alfred's blood boiled within his veins.

"Hey!" he shouted, clenching his hands into fists and not waiting a second before sprinting forward and punching the man square in the nose. "Leave her alone!" He barked, grinning when the brute crashed down to the ground. Alfred wasn't ready when the man pulled a knife from his pocket. So far, he had only needed to deal with unarmed felons, so this was new and dangerous. The woman had stumbled backward, whimpering in fear to the side of her rescuer. The assailant, however, was enraged and taking thoughtless swings at Alfred.

"Fuck off, kid!"

"Don't tell me what to do!" Alfred wheezed as he felt the knife swing very close to his face. This closeness to the edge, this danger? It gave him a rush. "You're a sick fuck, man!" He grunted, hurriedly lifting his foot and slamming it into the man's gut. With every strike he gave or dodged, he only felt his exhilaration build. This seemed enough to wind him, and from then, Alfred had the upper hand. Now, he took this man by the collar and threw him against the ground, effectively knocking him out. "You alright, m'am-" he started to ask. When he turned around to look at this woman, however, he saw her running off and down the street. He wondered why he was grinning so widely.

* * *

"You idiot, what were you thinking?" Arthur scolded from across the counter, staring at the beaten and bruised American who stood there, smiling like a fool. "What on Earth were you doing, anyway!" he growled, going around the counter of the bookstore and grabbing Alfred roughly by the ear.

"I fixed everything," croaked Alfred, unable to see due to the heavy welts that ended up pressing his eyes shut. "The gang's all broken up now 'cos of me."

"A _gang_?" asked Arthur, feeling both incredulous and ill at the same time. "Alfred, that's dangerous," he mumbled, harshly dragging Alfred into the backroom. "Fuck, you really need to stop this hero fantasy of yours," he murmured, searching around for the first-aid kit that protocol demanded they keep in the bookstore.

"It's not a fantasy," insisted Alfred as he was sat down on an unopened book crate. Arthur muttered curses as he found a cold pack and pressed it to the large bruises and wounds on Alfred's face. "I'm really a hero, Arthur. I save lives now."

"Perhaps, but you risk your own," Arthur muttered frostily. "It's not okay, lad. I.. You know how I feel about you. If you were taken from me, I simply don't know what I'd do." Alfred, still in complete pain from his beating, slowly reached forward and looped his weary and weak arms around Arthur's neck.

"I ain't gonna leave you anytime soon," he smiled still, teeth bright compared to the dried blood that dotted his skin. "I gotcha."

"I can't trust your word," Arthur mumbled, gently leaning back against Alfred. "One day you're going to make more trouble than you can deal with, Alfred," he scolded softly. "You know I don't want you hurt."

"Are you gonna bring up the stairs again?" Alfred wheezed, leaning his chin down on the other's shoulder now. "You _always_ talk about the stairs."

"Because it was a serious event that scared me sick," Arthur chided dryly. "I thought my best friend was dead, Alfred," he mumbled, only sighing when Alfred tried to kiss his lips to soothe him. It didn't have any affect other than saddening Arthur. "I'm not sure if it's worse now that I'm in love with you."

"I'll be fine," Alfred sighed, booping their noses. "I was fine then, and I'll be fine now. So don't worry."

* * *

Alfred checked the wires for the fourth time. He didn't even glance down to his shoulder bag. Instead, he let his hand sink into it, and he gently fingered the wires to make sure that they were in place. Today, he was making a point. Casually, he looked around for cameras. After spotting one, he drew his jacket's hood up over his head, and slid on a pair of dark shades. He was even wearing combat boots with a bit of a heel to give him a height difference. If he was caught on camera, he was hoping to be unrecognizable. He waited, watched the rails as he checked the time on his phone. Tiredly, he put his phone in his pocket and tapped his fingers on his knee.

When the train finally arrived, he stepped on, and sat down, moving his bag strap from his shoulder and vaguely reaching into it to press a tiny button. As the train pulled up at the next station, he adjusted his shades and stood, hopping off the carriage and leaving his bag behind. He needed to be out of the area. As he walked, he couldn't help but smile a little. He was saving the world.

Sacrifices had been made in the past, right? He thought as he began to waltz down the street. They were all necessary sacrifices! His heart was throbbing in his chest, filling him with that exhilaration he had been craving for a while. There was nothing quite like the excitement he felt at that moment. Nothing else satisfied him. Alfred had never killed before. He had injured, beaten, knocked out, yes. But never killed. He wished he could have heard the train's explosion in person. Perhaps this was a little more rotten than pure justice.

He kicked back that evening, turning up early to Arthur's apartment. "Artie!" he called, smiling brightly. "Guess who's home!"

"Let me see, hm," called Arthur from the kitchen, frying up some dinner. "Is it perhaps Alfred F. Jones?"

"How'd you know," he laughed as he walked in, closing (and instinctively locking) the door behind him. "You're no fun, Arthur."

"I'm plenty of fun," Arthur just rolled his eyes when Alfred came over and hugged him from behind. "Our definitions of fun are clearly different."

Arthur finished dinner promptly, serving a plate to Alfred and himself before taking both dishes to the couch. They cuddled up, as any normal couple would, and Alfred turned on the television. "The news?" Arthur scoffed. "You're not really a news person, Alfred; what happened to _Adventure Time_?"

"Maybe I'm growing up," Alfred retorted, stuffing bland fish into his mouth.

After a while of quiet eating, Alfred finally saw what he'd been awaiting. A train had 'malfunctioned', they said. Gone off the rails. Many people were either injured or killed. Alfred seemed surprised to see Arthur frowning rather worriedly.

"Trains these days," the Brit mumbled, looking quite concerned. "What an unfortunate accident."

"I doubt it was an accident," said Alfred, quite knowingly. "I mean, look how the carriages separated, man. Like it.. blew up," he smiled.

"What's with the dopey look on your face?" Arthur muttered. "You almost look happy that people have lost their lives."

"They were a needed sacrifice," Alfred hummed, tilting his head and leaning in to hug Arthur a little more. Instead, he found the Brit's hand on his chest, keeping him from moving any closer. "Something wrong, Art'?"

"A needed.. sacrifice?" he murmured, pursing his lips. "You think it was alright for this to happen?"

"Better," Alfred nodded, leaning in anyway and pecking Arthur's nose. "I _made_ it happen."

The look of horror that befell Arthur's face.. Well, it gave Alfred mixed emotions. Something in him felt concerned for his boyfriend. Something else made him smile. "Get off of me," Arthur murmured weakly, pushing Alfred away. "Is this something of you being a hero?" he said almost under his breath, getting up slowly to his feet.

"Of course," chirped Alfred. Arthur slapped him hard across the face.

"You've taken it too far, Alfred!" he barked, voice cracking mid-sentence. He didn't even doubt that Alfred had planted the bomb on that train. Alfred had the caliber and the twisted morals. "This is serious! Stop fucking smiling like that!"

Alfred couldn't help but grin, even though his heart was aching from Arthur's sudden change in attitude toward him. "I'm saving the world," Alfred smiled, not flinching when Arthur slapped him again. "I'm a super hero." He always thought he could trust Arthur with his secrets. Not that being a hero was a secret, though.

"You're off your head!" snapped Arthur, now stepping back and trembling with fear. "Don't come crying to me when you're in a prison cell!" With that, he was out of his apartment in moments, running down the stairs and belting down the street. Arthur was terrified.

* * *

It was his third attempt. His third home-made bomb. Alfred was jittery. Arthur no longer returned his calls. He didn't open the door to his apartment. Alfred wondered if he regretted telling Arthur the truth. Oh well. If Arthur couldn't handle the fact that the true evil rested in the government, if he couldn't handle that Alfred was trying to send a message, Alfred didn't need him. He was going to save the world. He was fixing things for the better. He told himself that as he slowly entered the grounds of an elementary school.

Alfred knew the way in here. He used to go here, when he was just a kid. He wondered if that crabby old bitch who taught him once was still working here. If she was, he supposed this would be personal justice as well as justice for the good of the world. He trod lightly; the absence of sound was quite unnerving. He supposed it was just class time. That made things all the more convenient for him. Smiling to himself, he flicked up his collar and moved to the playground. Today, his bag was a child's one, a backpack that would not look so out of place in a school full of such young people.

Alfred could only gasp as his arms were grabbed, and he was jerked back from where he'd been placing the bag – inside one of the playground's tunnels. He hadn't even noticed some police officers - SWAT, perhaps? – creeping up to him, no less had he noticed the men who were now shoving guns barrels against his back. He was muttered his rights, and called a sick fuck afterward. For some reason, they handcuffed him, and threw him in one of their cars.

A bright light shone into his eyes, and Alfred finally came to consciousness. Supposedly, they'd needed to black him out on their way to the bureau, or the station, or wherever they were. It was a small room, with a glass panel that Alfred couldn't see through. One-sided glass. An interrogation room. Alfred didn't even remember trying to escape, but the bruises and scrapes he saw on his arms certainly told him that he'd struggled.

"Did you plant those bombs?" he was asked. Alfred pursed his lips. He had no reason to lie, did he? Surely he'd just tell them how he was saving the world and he'd free a free vigilante once more.

"Yes," he said, smiling a little. "I'm saving the world, you see." There was no response from the investigators standing across from him at the table just yet. "I'm fixing things," he grinned. "Can I go now? Surely you know I'm just trying to help."

"People like you make me sick," said the burlier investigator, furrowing his brow. "You're not leaving any time soon. You're getting the death penalty for this, kid."

* * *

Alfred didn't really understand what was going to happen to him until he was allowed one final visitor to the prison he'd been stowed away in for this week before his execution. The jumpsuit, bright orange, wasn't very comfortable. It didn't suit his style, really. Nor did the handcuffs. He had been labeled an unstable psychopath. Alfred always called himself a hero, no matter what anyone else said.

"Arthur," he said into the phone, smiling at the man on the other side of the glass. "How are you? I haven't seen you in ages."

"Alfred, you idiot," came the quiet response.

"Why are you crying?" Alfred asked softly, putting his palm to the glass as if it was as good as touching Arthur's cheek.

"You idiot," Arthur echoed. "You're not a hero," he mumbled. "You're a terrorist. Alfred, I-.. I called those police on you," he whimpered quietly, only half-heartedly holding the phone to his ear. "Goodbye, Alfred."

"No, Arthur, wait-" Alfred stammered as the Brit put the phone down and sharply turned away. He walked off for the last time. "Arthur!" he cried, instantly having one of the guards on his side of the glass come over and tell him to stop shouting. He was disturbing the others.

It was a small room. Nothing much to look at. Not fitting for a hero's death. Driven mad and driven out of his lover's home, here he was. Alfred struggled now, pleading for one more chance to see Arthur, one more chance to save the world. "Please!" he cried as he was sat down and his wrists were buckled to the arm-rests of the chair. "Please, I can save the world!" Although he said this, the honest best way for Alfred to save the world was not be a part of it. His eyes were covered, and he was given his crown, which was ready to administer his punishment, his justification for sin. He whimpered now, terrified. This was not how a hero was meant to die.

Because that's what he still thought he was. Even after committing murder. Even after destroying cars and buses. Even after Arthur told him that he wasn't. He should have listened. It was too late for regrets. Alfred still believed he was right. He could save the world. These people were dooming themselves by taking his life. He still thought this as the volts wracked his body, causing him to convulse violently.

* * *

Arthur had holed himself up in his room since the execution. Was it guilt overwhelming him? He wasn't sure. It might have been guilt for sending his best friend, his _boyfriend_, to the chair. Perhaps it was just his sense of morality fucking with him. Alfred was.. He was a murderer. A terrorist. Arthur was saving so many lives by turning Alfred in. If so, then why did he feel so ill, so sick, for betraying Alfred's trust? He loved him, once. Before the madness. Alfred had always had some kind of twisted hero complex.

Slowly, on teetering and trembling feet, he walked slowly out of his apartment, off to get some tea and avoid reality. He pulled the door closed behind him with shaking hands. He stumbled out, but found himself stopping at the top of the stairwell. His memories, within his hazy state, started to mix with his reality. Weakly, pathetically, he followed little Alfred down the stairs. Except this time, Arthur was the one falling.

* * *

**hope you enjoyed this! the idea did come from super hero by len kagamine because that song is freaking awesome qvq**


End file.
